


Sugar & Spice

by icewhisper



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Maes Hughes Lives, Multi, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, part fluff part crack and every bit what i don't usually write, two idiots who should not be left to their own devices try to bake a cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24488965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icewhisper/pseuds/icewhisper
Summary: A dork and a blind man walk into a kitchen to bake a cake.It’s a wonder Gracia keeps either of them around.
Relationships: Gracia Hughes/Maes Hughes/Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes/Roy Mustang
Comments: 14
Kudos: 102
Collections: Fluffy_3k





	Sugar & Spice

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the fluff prompt on the Shooters For Snipers discord. Fluff is just Roy and Maes acting like idiots, right?

“I have an idea,” Maes announced, cheery, as he came into the bedroom.

Roy squinted at him – or at the vague outline of him – and knew he was going to regret whatever he was about to be dragged into. “What?” he asked with a resigned sigh while he finished buttoning his shirt.

“We’re going to bake Gracia a cake for her birthday,” Maes declared as if Roy-plus-kitchen hadn’t been a bad combination  _ before _ he went blind. The last time he tried anything, he hadn’t even needed his gloves to set something on fire.

“Can’t we just buy one from that bakery she likes? The one with the lemon tarts.”

“This will mean more.”

“Yes,” he drawled. “It’ll mean  _ happy birthday, Gracia, so sorry we burned down the apartment _ . Did you forget I’m blind?”

“Nope,” Maes said brightly. “I put extra lights in the kitchen so you can see the shadows easier. Now, come on. I found a recipe in her mom’s old cookbook I want to try.”

Oh, great. So they weren’t only going to burn down the apartment, they were going to ruin a fond memory of her mother’s cakes, too.

Maes grabbed his hand before Roy could actually reach for his cane and pulled him along, already chattering about the recipe and, God, they were making the  _ frosting _ too? And what was that about a compote? He wanted to argue, to remind Maes that anything at the caliber the man was talking about was doomed for disaster, but he knew it was no good. If anything, the coma had turned Maes into an even bigger fanatic about his family and Roy didn’t know if it was the shock of what he’d missed or the guilt that had caused it. 

Maes had barely spoken to him for weeks after he’d woken up in the hospital and Gracia had told him what happened. The Homunculi. His injuries. That when Dr. Marcoh came around with the Philosopher’s Stone, Roy had prioritized both Maes and Havoc before himself. That the stone had crumbled to dust before he’d been able to do more than fix Roy’s hands and restore shadows to his vision.

Roy had found peace with it and, Gracia, a grudging acceptance, but Maes hadn’t yet. Some days, Roy wondered if he ever would.

Elicia, in all her three-year-old innocence, had only asked if he’d still be able to braid her hair.

Somehow, he was even better at it blind.

“I think we have all the ingredients,” Maes told him as he guided Roy around an end table. “I didn’t  _ look _ , but it can’t be that hard to figure out substitutions and I don’t think there’s a big difference between baking powder and baking soda. I think we can use regular sugar instead of confectioner’s, too.”

So it’s going to go  _ that _ bad, he thought and tried to conjure up a memory of that look Gracia would give them when she questioned her decision to love two men who, when combined, couldn’t form a single functional adult.

“Are you  _ sure _ we can’t just buy a cake?” he asked, a little despairingly. “I’m sure Gracia would prefer something edible.”

“It’ll be edible!” Maes insisted and Roy wondered if the man knew he was lying. It was Maes, though, so he was probably just being overly optimistic. “Then, you can do your candle trick-”

“ _ Blind _ .”

“As if Riza and you haven’t been practicing,” Maes countered and Roy could almost  _ hear _ the eyeroll. “Now, like I was saying. The compote…”

Roy’s free hand brushed the archway into the kitchen as they passed it and he stopped. “How many lights did you bring in here?” he asked, incredulous, because it was nearly as bright as mid-afternoon at the park when he could see actual edges to the shadows.

“As many as I could fit,” Maes said without shame. “I took off all the lampshades, too. Give me a second. I’m going to get the aprons Elicia made us for Father’s Day. We have to take pictures before we get them dirty.”

Roy was pretty sure Maes wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore and when the top loop of the apron got dropped over his head, he just accepted it. His fingers brushed against the raised pattern on the front, tracing out the first  _ P _ in  _ papa _ that he knew Gracia must have done, because none of them were going to hand a barely-four-year-old a  _ bedazzler _ .

He was ninety-percent certain the stones were red and the others weren’t lying to him about the color, but the only one who would probably tell him if he was wearing hot pink rhinestones was Fullmetal and Fullmetal would tell him by  _ laughing at him _ .

He was not asking Fullmetal.

“Come on, Papa,” Maes said happily as he tugged Roy into what he could only assume was a better spot for the picture. He smiled with it, though, a little warmed by the title. He’d always been Elicia’s other father, but they’d never gotten to be public about it. Strictly speaking, they still weren’t, but their friends and family knew and Elicia was free to call him papa within the confines of their apartment.

Maes said he could pass whatever laws he wanted once he was Fuhrer and Roy pretended the fact that Maes still thought that was an inevitability didn’t make him love the idiot a little more.

He followed Maes’ shadow, smiled for the picture and, then, let Maes position his hands at the right angle so Roy could snap one of him.

“You know this is going to come out horribly, right?” he verified, but Maes just laughed.

“Shush. Now, come help me measure. I know you can tell when things hit the top of a cup,” Maes told him as he guided him over to the counter. “Mixing bowl is directly in front of you. Flour is at your eleven o’clock. Cocoa powder’s at your two.”

Maes read off the measurements to him, guiding him towards where each measuring utensil was while he focused on cutting the strawberries and getting the compote started. “We don’t have cornstarch, but I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Maes reassured him as Roy frowned at a container and  _ wished _ he could make out text.

He settled for taste-testing a pinch and grimaced.

Definitely salt.

He tipped the measurement into the dry ingredients.

For all of twenty minutes, he allowed himself to get lulled into a false sense of security that everything might go okay. Maes wasn’t being so foolhardy as to let him near the stove. He was mostly sure he’d gotten the right measurements inside the bowl. Nothing was on fire.

“Can you crack the eggs?” Maes asked and he sounded concerned as he stirred the compote. “I think this might be burning.”

He’d rather Maes focus on the pot and keep a fire from happening, he told himself as he reached for the eggs. Besides, it shouldn’t be that hard. Back when he was a kid, he used to cook for his aunt and the girls all the time when they’d be coming off long nights in the bar. He used to be able to crack eggs with his eyes closed. It was fine.

“I think I burned this,” Maes murmured. “I don’t think this is coming off the bottom of the pan.”

Roy’s eyebrows inched up. “How bad is it?” Gracia had  _ just _ bought a new set of pans. If Maes had ruined one, Gracia was going to remind them both why letting her become such good friends with Riza Hawkeye was a bad idea.

“It’s black?” Maes said uncertainly. “I thought they looked okay, but they’re kind of stuck now.”

“They’re  _ strawberries _ , Maes. They’re not supposed to be black.”

“Maybe if I let the pan soak for a while…” Maes mused as he clicked the stove off. “It’s okay. We can skip the compote.” He stepped up on Roy’s left. “There’s shell in the bowl.”

Until he died, he’d blame Fullmetal’s influence and his continued presence in Roy’s life for his next actions.

He hummed, agreeable, and dug his fingers into the bowl.

Then, promptly dumped it on top of Maes’ head.

“Did I get it?” he asked innocently.

Maes let out a disbelieving breath of a laugh, stunned, and in the stretching silence, Roy let himself think he’d won.

Which was about when Maes smashed what felt like  _ butter _ into his hair.

“I think I got the rest,” Maes said, equally innocent, and Roy grabbed blindly for something. He ended up with a handful of either flour or cocoa powder, tossed it straight at Maes, and the fight began in earnest. Food got thrown and they  _ laughed _ , happy and carefree, in a way neither of them had been able to since they went to war the first time. The pot of destroyed compote got knocked off the stove and clattered to the floor. Maes’ arm wrapped around his waist and Roy shoved a sticky, slimy hand up the back of Maes’ shirt. 

He reached for something else before Maes could retaliate, but Maes dropped his forehead down towards Roy’s and they both stilled as Roy’s hand moved to rest on his shoulder. Their laughter quieted to nothing.

“I  _ told you _ baking was a bad idea,” he told him, grinning at what he could see of Maes’ outline. The lights the man had dragged into the kitchen helped, but even they weren’t enough to actually let him see the details of his face. He could imagine, though – could picture that stupid half smile that used to drive him crazy at the Academy. The way his glasses were probably knocked askew.

“It could have gone worse,” Maes said cheerily and covered Roy’s answering laugh with a kiss.

Roy kissed him back, body arched towards Maes as his arguably cleaner hand found its way into Maes’ egg-slicked hair. In his more sentimental moments, he’d say this was what he’d given his sight for, that sacrificing getting it back had been worth Maes waking up and coming  _ home _ . That it had been worth the day he looked at a hazy shadow in the doorway of a hospital room and heard Maes’ voice break when he asked, “Roy, what have you  _ done _ ?” Most days, he thought it had worked out, even if he did still have his second apartment for show.

Maes was home. Roy was making things work. Gracia was putting up with them. Elicia was-

“Daddies made a mess!” Elicia cried with a happy giggle that broke the kiss and pulled Maes’ hand off his ass.

-Elicia was  _ home _ .

Roy heard the calm padding of Gracia’s steps on the hardwood before he heard her exasperated sigh. “What did you two  _ do _ ?” she asked with the kind of patience that could only come from someone crazy enough to be in a relationship with both of them.

Maes put an arm around Roy’s shoulders and tugged him in close to his side. “Happy birthday, Gracia!” he said, voice cheerful. “We baked you a cake!”

“We didn’t bake anything,” Roy told her. “Maes thinks strawberry compote is supposed to be black.”

“Traitor,” Maes hissed in his ear.

“I’m more scared of her than I am of you.”

“And the reason there’s food thrown all over the kitchen...” she prompted.

“He asked if I could see the eggshell in the bowl.”

Gracia sighed.

In the end, four things happened.

  1. After a shower, Roy and Elicia were sent out to Gracia’s favorite bakery to get her a cake like Roy had suggested in the first place.
  2. After they put Elicia to bed, Maes and Roy got to work cleaning the kitchen while Gracia supervised and told them that they weren’t allowed in the kitchen ever again.
  3. They all got...distracted.
  4. Ten weeks later, they told Elicia she was going to be a big sister.



The End


End file.
